


je pâlis à sa vue

by aelbereth



Series: 19th century lesbian indulgence [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Epistolary, F/F, Masturbation, Menstrual Sex, Original Character(s), mentions of - Freeform, sexting before phones, vampire metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 12:29:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19887850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aelbereth/pseuds/aelbereth
Summary: I wish I had the metaphor, but my head is woozy with you.a letter from one of my ocs to another.





	je pâlis à sa vue

**Author's Note:**

> been reading _Thrall_ by Avon Gale and Roan Parrish, and was inspired to write my own epistolary sex in a setting closer to the original _Dracula_. 
> 
> not fannish content, but I’m putting it here because where else would I put my porn.
> 
> title from Racine’s _Phèdre_ : “je le vis / je rougis / je pâlis à sa vue”   
> (I saw him / I blushed / I went pale at the sight)

H—

I sit alone and think of you more often than I should admit. I hope you’ll forgive my hasty introduction; six weeks is too long away from your voice, your eyes, your cunt. I long for your advice on daily matters; I long for your fingers secretly touching mine; I long for your kiss on my breasts. It elates and exhilarates me to _know_ that you feel the same way. I bare my soul and body to you, and you take them gently and with no malice. I give you my life-blood to spill, and instead you pump it through your own veins. 

When I am in bed without your warmth I think of what I am missing. I picture your lithe hands, your square nails, the little scar on your left pointer finger. I think of your dear nose, your beloved mouth, your darling chin. I dare not imagine your eyes for fear I will be sucked in forever and never awake to properly return to you—every part of you distracts me but they are the worst offenders. I wonder if your hair is sticking up in the back, or if you tamed it this morning. I begin to feel the pressure of your head on my shoulder, and then it is gone and I cannot help the tears that spring to my eyes. 

Without your burning mouth, I must draw my pleasure myself. I begin with my breasts—I know you love to hold them in each hand, so I embrace myself and imagine what you would say while you squeezed them. As I write this I must admit I am already hot-skinned and blissfully, awfully alone. Were you here I would put my hands around your waist and my face in your breasts. I would kiss you as I unbuttoned—are you wearing clothes as you read this, I wonder? I am naked as I write it, and a chill just ran down my back at the thought of you the same way. I fear this letter has no organisation but you know I cannot think when I see you. I wish I could see you. 

I will resume my journey downwards. I know you would take longer, kiss my moles and cup my hipbones, trace the lightning marks on my thighs, but my body is not sensual without you to see it that way. I do take a stop at my hips and pretend they are yours, caress the beloved surface through proxy. Then—I can’t wait, my darling, I know you would—my hands seek the place that only you and I will ever know. 

I must pause again, purposefully this time, to declaim my love for your cunt. It is such a vulgar word for the place I would call holy. Your lips are always so slick when I first touch them, and I know your body has prepared for me, that you want me there and I am welcome. The heat of your passage around my tongue is incomparable to any other feeling. I wish I had the metaphor, but my head is woozy with you. 

I am petting my most tender opening as you always do, slow and light, entering just enough to make my whole body seize and to wet your precious fingertips. It is slow going, and I am determined to write, to share the experience with you in the only way I can, so far away. 

If I were truly with you I would lay my ear on your beating heart as I fucked you, two fingers in and one rubbing outside, listening to your body react to me. I know your cycle should be beginning, so I imagine my hand would be deliciously red, and we’d have to change the bedclothes—such hedonism, my maenad! I hope you would make all of your beautiful sounds. I always feel more intensely when I allow myself to breathe hard, to cry out, to sigh your name. I’ve never asked you if that is reciprocal. Tell me in your reply; tell me how this letter affected you; tell me everything you ever want to say, my love. I want to be full of you: secrets, love, fingers, tongue. 

My hand is cramping. I must give off writing to finish this most friendly fantasy alone. 

I am finished, and my body tells me to relax but my mind cannot, not without you beside me. It took me far too long to reach ecstasy without you to guide my way. As I took the last desperate breaths I know you love to hear, I thought of the intimacy of holding your gaze. I quivered with your glance when I first knew you, and now I can withstand your eyes for so long, trusting what I see through them. I want to watch them while I give you your climax. Soon. 

I love you I love you I love you. Please forgive, again, my impropriety. I want to hide nothing from you. I feel no shame telling you all this, because I know you want to see my inner being as much as I do yours. I only hope you open and enjoy this letter in private. 

Do not feel you must reply in kind. I had to take down my longing in ink, lest it spill out of me in blood. I am assured of your love and desire, as I hope this letter assures you of mine. 

Good night, and may we be reunited in dreams,

A

P. S. Your breasts are like twin gazelles, &c. &c. 

**Author's Note:**

> I will be writing more of these girls. is one of them a vampire? both? maybe. expect H’s reply soon.


End file.
